


Red

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blind Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Frank needs a hug, M/M, POV Frank Castle, Sassy Matt Murdock, Timeline What Timeline, Who got all these feelings in my porn, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: Frank only ever sees one colour lately, and it's a pain in his ass.





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I finally watched the Netflix MCU like two years late. First time trying out Matt/Frank (Fratt? Darecastle? These ship names are dumb) so this is gonna be like one of those mystery candies, where it's either gonna be something awesome like raspberry or dragonfruit or it's gonna be something terrible like grape. Thank you [Sevdrag](http://sevdrag.tumblr.com) for beta and cheerleading and screeching at me. (Side note, I'm open for commissions; see tumblr for details).
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)

Frank remembers colours. He remembers the bright green grass of his lawn in summertime, the brilliant purple of Lisa’s first Easter dress, the vivid blue of Frankie’s eyes. He remembers the gold of Maria’s hair when the light hit it first thing in the morning. Those colours have burned themselves into his memory, but it’s not those hues he sees now.

All he sees now are shades of red.

Red is a constant in his life, from the bright flash of fresh blood to the crimson haze staining his vision during a fight, and lately, to the dark burgundy of the costumed asshole pressed up against the wall in front of him.

Frank can’t escape Red no matter how hard he tries to find other colours.

He ducks a lightning fast jab to his temple and charges like a bull, catching Red around the torso and slamming him back into the wall. The man is maddingly quick and light on his feet, balanced like a boxer and throwing out moves Frank’s only seen in old kung fu movies and he’s _really_ getting tired of getting punched in the face. Pain usually brings him clarity in a fight, but for some reason he just can’t focus around Red, can’t just bulldoze his way through fighting him like he can with everyone else.

Rage simmers hotly beneath the surface of his skin, licking like fire along his veins. One day, just _one fucking day_ without running into Red is all he asks and he can’t even get that. The man may have the moniker of the Devil, but he’s more like the annoying angel on Frank’s shoulder trying to convince him to _“just let them go, let the law sort it out”_ and Frank’s finally at the end of his admittedly short fuse.

“Frank!” Red chokes out his name as Frank wraps his hand around the barely exposed skin of his throat. “Frank, stop!”

A knee comes up and Frank just narrowly manages to block it with his thigh before it can nail him in the balls. He leans his weight into Red, thigh slotting in between his legs and fingers tightening around the warm throat. His vision darkens around the edges and he can feel the blood pounding in his ears, can feel the echoing pulse in Red, strong and steady.

“Frank, listen to me. How long are we gonna do this dance, huh?” Red rasps, breath hot against Frank’s face. He curls one gloved hand around Frank’s wrist but doesn’t struggle.

“You’re the one who keeps followin’ me around,” Frank snarls, nose brushing Red’s as he glares into the stupid blood red eyes of the mask. “Like a little lost puppy who keeps stickin’ his nose where it don’t belong.”

Red holds his ground, doesn’t shrink away or turn his head. The man’s got balls, brass ones, and maybe in another life, Frank would’ve called him a friend. There’s something enticing about the jackass – probably what’s kept Frank from just putting a bullet in his skull and being done with the entire situation – and Frank can’t deny the way he instinctively responds to him, the way he moves effortlessly in and out of Red’s space when they’re fighting together and the way his blood fires up when they’re fighting each other. Red’s intoxicating, worse than any drug Frank’s ever experienced.

“I have it on good authority you like puppies,” Red replies, lips twisting in a cocky grin that drives Frank mad in more ways than one.

They’re teetering on the edge of something much bigger here and it sends chills down Frank’s spine. He doesn’t let up on the pressure he’s keeping on Red, merely squares his jaw and mentally curses the fucking mask. One of them has to move first and Frank is determined to not let it be him. “And sometimes dogs get put down, no matter how good their intentions,” he grits out.

The grin, if anything, gets cockier, daring Frank to move. “You gonna put me down then, Frank? You tried that once and it didn’t work, and I don’t fit your code.”

Frank leans closer and they’re flush against one another now. He presses upward against Red’s throat, tilting his head back a fraction. “You think I won’t?” he growls.

“No,” Red replies quietly, the grin melting into a curious expression as he cocks his head slightly. “No, I really don’t think you will.”

He moves faster than Frank can anticipate, a blur of red and black as he twists out of Frank’s grasp and wraps a hand around the back of Frank’s neck and hauls him in. The kiss is anything but tentative, Red’s lips moving firmly against his own. Frank can taste blood and sweat and something else entirely unique to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and his mind shorts out temporarily.

The rasp of stubble against his own is new and the slight burn is sending fire through Frank’s veins, jolting him back to reality. He snarls something against Red’s lips and swallows the man’s gasp as he pushes in to meet him, hips snapping forward of their own accord. Digging his fingertips into Red’s waist, he presses his assault, biting at Red’s lower lip and licking into his mouth like a starving man.

Red recovers just as fast as he fights. His teeth clash against Frank’s, one leg hooking around Frank’s calf to pull their hips into alignment and thrusting upward. He lets out a frustrated noise into Frank’s mouth and brings his other hand up to pull at his glove and tosses it aside.

A warm palm slots itself against Frank’s face, thumb rubbing against his cheekbone and fingers curling around the bolt of his jaw. Frank shudders against the contrast to their frenetic pace, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on Red’s hips.

“Frank, wait, just wait, please,” Red manages to say between kisses and bites, breath coming in harsh pants. “Just let me…” he trails off, letting his hand trace every millimetre of Frank’s face, dipping just under his eyes and over his brow.

Frank waits, heart thudding in his chest. He can’t open his eyes, can’t let himself see whatever expression is on Red’s face because they’ve crossed a line somewhere with whatever this is, whatever Red’s doing, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. This is far more intimacy than he’s prepared for, more than the kissing or the cock he can feel against his own through their clothing. Hell, Frank’s never gotten remotely hard around other dudes, that alone should freak him out more than the feel of Red’s fingers on his face.

Red hesitates on Frank’s nose, following the dips of every healed break. There’s a rustle of fabric and a second hand joins the first, ghosting across Frank’s closed eyelids and over his forehead up to his hairline. He exhales shakily as he buries his hand in Frank’s short hair, the other moving from his nose down to his lips.

Christ, Red’s just as affected by this as he is. Frank lets his eyes drift open as a thumb rests on his spit-slick lower lip and he gives in to the urge to bite it, sucking it into his mouth and sweeping his tongue over the calloused skin.

Red hisses in a breath and just like that, the fire is back. He leans in to latch his mouth onto Frank’s throat, teeth flashing in sharp nips and tongue leaving wet heat in their wake. His hands drop to Frank’s belt, yanking and pulling until he manages to get it open and pops the button on Frank’s jeans.

“Fuck, Red,” Frank swears as he tips his head back, both to give Red better access to his throat and to avoid poking himself with those stupid devil horns. He wants to pull the fucking thing off, to tug at Red’s hair, to see the look in his eyes when – no. That’s too dangerous of a road to go down and they’re already up shit creek as it is. He rocks his hips forward instead, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood as he feels Red palm him through his boxers.

“That’s the idea,” Red murmurs against his throat, the perpetual wiseass. He grunts as he tugs Frank’s zipper down and sucks another bruise against his skin, the Devil staking a claim.

Frank’s fingers scrabble against the front of Red’s pants, clumsily picking at the ridiculous clasps. He _needs _to feel Red’s skin, the heat of him, needs to know that the man in front of him is real. Frustrated, he tilts Red’s head back up and crushes their mouths together once more, unable to stop the strangled whine that escapes as Red’s hand leaves his pants.

There’s a brief moment of stiffness and rustling fabric and then Red’s hand is covering his, tugging it from the man’s cheek and guiding it lower, sliding down the firm chest until Frank nearly jumps as he feels soft flesh. Red’s hipbone is sharp under Frank’s fingers and he’s trembling slightly, the abdominal muscles twitching at his touch.

Frank lets his other hand drop to the swell of Red’s ass and pants into the man’s mouth, his arousal ratcheting up another couple of notches. The other hand traces the hipbone around to the flat abs, moving up until he brushes the rolled up edge of the costume. He’s a little out of his depth here; he knows what he wants, knows basic technique if not the exact specifics, but the ache in his chest is hauntingly familiar.

He hesitates, pausing to draw back for a breath and finding himself mesmerized by the way Red’s swollen lips part in a gasp.

Surprisingly, Red seems to take pity on him rather than press his advantage. He presses a soft kiss to Frank’s lips and pulls at Frank’s jeans, unhooking the waistband of his boxers where it’s caught on his erection and tugs them down to mid-thigh.

“That a gun in your pocket or…?” Red asks in a breathy whisper, lips twitching in a faint smile and cocking his head.

He’s offering Frank an out, a way for Frank to back off, for them to go back to their previous not-quite-enemies status. It’s a little late – they’re both standing on a goddamned rooftop with their pants down, both hard as rocks and still breathing each other’s air – but Frank appreciates it nonetheless. The red haze is still hovering at the edge of his vision, but it’s changed shades now to the rich burgundy of the man in front of him, to plain old lust for skin and sex rather than blood.

Fuck it. Frank wants to see where this goes despite the fear that flickers at the back of his mind and the derisive inner voice reminding him where being soft gets him.

He noses at Red’s stubbled jaw and squeezes the handful of ass under his palms, his decision made. “Ain’t this some kind of sin?” he rumbles, mouthing at Red’s ear until the man lets out a needy whine. “Or do you just pick and choose which you’re okay with?”

Red’s only response other than huffing a quick laugh is to take them both in hand, his grip warm and sure.

Fire ignites along Frank’s veins and he’d be embarrassed at the groan that’s punched out of him if it weren’t echoed by Red. He thrusts forward instinctively, chasing that friction and the heat of Red’s cock against his own. Lifting a hand, he brushes Red’s where it’s wrapped around them both, running a tentative fingertip across the dripping tip of Red’s cock and drinking in the man’s muttered curse. He doesn’t know what to do beyond that, he wants to see Red fall apart, but he’s too far out of his element here.

Red doesn’t seem to mind. He jerks them steadily, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in a small move that makes Frank see stars.

The shitty mask is cold against Frank’s skin when he leans in close to bury his face against Red’s and something in him snaps. He growls deep in his throat, hips still moving of their own volition into Red’s hand, and reaches up to pull the mask off and let it drop to the ground at their feet. Plunging his hand into thick dark hair, he tilts Red’s head up, brushing his thumb against the corner of one unfocused brown eye.

He’s not surprised to recognize his one-time lawyer, not really. He’d put the pieces together back in the courtroom when Murdock’s questioning suddenly sounded a hell of a lot like Red’s, but it’s still a little startling to see the familiar face. How the hell a blind man can fight as well as Red does, he doesn’t know, doesn’t really care, but he knows that even now – especially now – he’s laying himself bare for Red to see.

That knowledge hits him like a punch to the gut. Frank’s growl turns strangled and he claims Red’s lips once more, matching the man’s heat and grunting at the slick slide of their cocks against each other. He can feel his orgasm pooling low in his groin, little flickers of flame that are getting harder to ignore.

Red’s close too, that much Frank can feel in the erratic pace of his strokes and the short, sharp moans leaking out into Frank’s mouth. The loss of the mask has switched something in him too, yet another line they’ve bulldozed over tonight. He’s so fucking addictive like this, with both of them on the same playing field now and the Devil turning out to be just as human as Frank.

Frank pants heavily against Red’s lips, nipping and devouring as much as he can and drowning in the taste and scent and feel of him. His hand tightens in Red’s hair and he fights to hold himself back, determined to make Red come first.

“That’s it, Frank,” Red breathes, pulling back just enough to make Frank chase him. “Let me hear you, c’mon.”

The hand around his cock twists _just_ right and Frank can feel himself toppling helplessly over the edge. He buries his face into Red’s neck, gasping out a quiet, cursing cry as he comes, hips stuttering in quick, abortive jerks. The red mist in his vision whites out behind his eyelids for a brief instant, the first time in a long time Frank’s seen anything other than red.

Soft kisses press into his temple as he rides out the waves of pleasure. “Do you have any idea how amazing you sound, Frank?” Red’s whispers, voice tight as he releases Frank’s cock before overstimulation sets in. He inhales deeply, nose nuzzling by Frank’s ear and holding him close.

Frank shudders, the orgasm and the wave of emotions that rode on its heels too much to bear. He ducks his head, resting his forehead on Red’s shoulder and watching as the man palms his own cock, his hand still covered in Frank’s come and man if that ain’t one of the hottest things Frank’s ever seen.

He trails his hand around to cover Red’s, fingers threading through his as they move to finish Red off together. Frank learns Red likes a rougher pace, a mix of fast and slow strokes, likes bruises sucked just behind his ear and his hair tugged _just _so. He learns Red tips his head back when he comes, eyes shut and mouth open as he gasps out Frank’s name like a prayer.

They stay like that for several long moments, sticky with sweat and blood and come, probably reeking to high heaven, just breathing together. Red’s heartbeat is strong and steady against Frank’s chest, the soothing rhythm giving him something to focus on besides the desire to either kiss Red or get the fuck away as fast as possible.

It’s Red who moves first, clearing his throat and shuffling down Frank’s torso to pull his jeans and boxers back up and tucking him neatly back into his pants. He fumbles a little with the belt until Frank stills his hands and does it himself.

He takes a step backward, the night air chilly on his overheated skin, watches as Red adjusts himself back into his costume and grimaces at the state of his hands.

“Probably a hell of a dry cleaning bill, that getup,” Frank says gruffly, wiping his own hands on his jeans. They’ll wash and he’s had a lot worse than come on his pants before.

Red chuckles, stooping to pick up his mask and fiddling with it. “It’s not that bad, actually,” he says, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got some suits that are much more of a pain in the ass.”

Frank tilts his head, something akin to warmth blooming in his chest as he studies Red’s face. “Yeah, well, ain’t no one more of a pain in the ass than you, so that fits.”

“Aw, Frank, gettin’ sweet on me?”

_Yes._ Frank reaches out, unthinking, and tugs Red in for a soft kiss. It’s not much more than a brush of their lips, but it scares the hell out of Frank because he _knows_ how this ends. He rests his forehead against Red’s for a moment before pulling away, shrugging and retreating back behind the walls he’s built up. “In your dreams, Red.”

Laughing, Red ducks his head, flipping his mask. “It’s Matt, actually,” he says after a moment.

“Yeah, I know. You’re shit at secret identities, y’know that?”

“Says the man without one.”

Frank lifts a shoulder and flips his hood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I like Red,” he replies. “Less Catholic guilt.”

Red does laugh at that, a rich sound that worms its way past Frank’s barriers deep into his chest. He slips his mask on, the moonlight reflecting off the crimson eyes and making them glitter in the dark. “I’ll see you around, Frank.” He gives a lazy salute and turns on his heel before dropping neatly off the side of the building.

“Yeah,” Frank breathes, the red mist around his vision suddenly not so intolerable. He wonders if he’ll dream about soft brown eyes this time, a new hue in his current spectrum of colours. “Yeah, you will.”

Maybe red’s not such a painful colour after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
